


We All Become One

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Corporate Espionage, Eventual Smut, F/M, Film Noir, Ghost in the shell inspired, Human AU, Minor Original Character(s), Transhumanism, blade runner inspired, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 17:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14169813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: When Marianne loses control of her AI named Primrose, she goes to extreme measures to insure the AI does not end up in the wrong hands.





	We All Become One

Marianne ran down the hall as fast as she could. The building she was in was one of those absurdly expensive apartment buildings that always looked so sterile to her with its sleek lines and facades clear of anything that even remotely claimed that the building had a soul. It was fancy, clean, and secure, but nothing aesthetically set it apart from any of the other buildings in this part of the city. It seemed to Marianne to have no soul. 

The inside was just as bad with white walls lined by neon purple and blue lights where androids and robots moved back and forth doing most of the work with a few human workers littered in amongst them. The halls were lined with sophisticated sound absorbing white carpets that somehow stayed a pristine white at all time, sterile, inhuman. The halls were lined with sliding doors that led into apartments, the doors looking identical except for their numbers. 

Marianne was running down the carpeted hall making no sound at all, but she could hear the sound of bare feet behind her. Clearly the designer of the carpet hadn’t considered anyone daring to run barefoot on his carpet, the technology having no idea what to do with the strange sound and probably stranger still feel of bare feet on the fibers of the carpet. 

Marianne didn’t look back. Her breath which she was trying to control, was coming in short sobs and there were tears running down her cheeks playing havoc with her holographic makeup. She wiped viciously with the back of her hand and just put on more speed, but she could hear her pursuer catching up to her, his voice following her. 

“Marianne! Stop! Let me explain!” Roland called after her. 

One of the apartment doors that Marianne was about to hurry by open to reveal an old woman standing in the doorway, her thick white hair held in place by two gold hairsticks. She was wearing a black and pink kimono whose pattern was a constant shifting display of colorful light. She frowned seeing Marianne's tear streaked face as the young woman rushed past her door, then turned to see Roland pursuing her. 

Roland was just about to run by when the woman stepped out in front of him. 

“Roland Knight, what are you doing running around the halls wearing only a sheet?” 

Roland slid to a halt and groaned. “Mrs. Ito! I can’t talk right now!” 

When Marianne heard the woman's voice, a small smile touched her lips, thankful for a stranger’s help as she made her way down the long hall toward the elevators. She knew she was home free when she saw the elevator doors open and waiting to take her away from this nightmare she had walked into. She rushed into the waiting elevator and turned around to hit the lobby button just as Roland put himself in the middle of the doors, a hand on either side, his hips wrapped in a sheet, but otherwise naked. 

Marianne glared at him, finding it hard to believe she had ever been in love with him. Roland was handsome with thick wavy blonde hair, deep green eyes, the type of face that should be on the big screen, like one of the old Hollywood actors that Marianne was fond of; she adored old movies and Roland looked every inch the dashing hero of some ancient film. But as she had just learned, he was anything but a hero. 

Panting Roland smiled at her. “Come on Marianne, let me explain.” 

“What’s there to explain Roland? You were having an orgy using the AI I was working on--on Flora-8...my...my creation...perverting her programming. Fuck Roland! She isn’t even able to give consent yet...but you downloaded her into a dummy droid body along with buying those limited AI pleasure droids...God Roland...how could you?” 

Marianne sniffed using the heels of her hands to wipe at her eyes. “That’s...that’s practically rape Roland!” 

Roland snorted. “Fuck, really Marianne? I mean I know you are all about AI personhood and all that shit, but come on! It was just a bit of fun, none of it was real…It’s nothing worse than adult toys.” 

Marianne stared at Roland in disgust. “Roland...go fuck yourself.” 

With that, Marianne kicked Roland firmly in the crotch. Roland made the most ridiculous sounding squeak Marianne had ever heard as he grabbed his groin, stumbling backward from the elevator and fell to his knees. Marianne watched him fall over onto his side. She glanced up just as the doors snapped closed to see Mrs. Ito in the middle of the hall giving her a thumbs up. 

* 

Marianne waited until morning to call her father. She needed the time to center herself, to make sure she wasn’t going off all crazy when she called. She didn’t want to sound upset; she wanted to sound together, reasonable, in control. She was asking her father to fire one of his favored employees. Roland had been working for her father right out of college in AI development as well as a developer in their android department. He wasn’t the most skilled engineer, but what he lacked in his own talents he made up for in his ability to scout out talent for Summerfield Technologies, Robotics and Augmentation. 

Marianne worked at her father’s tech company as one of his chief AI programmers. Flora-8 (Flora-8 didn’t actually stand for anything. Marianne hated giving her creations acronyms that stood for something stupid--she liked to name her AIs. They were like children for her and naming them gave them life, she thought. The number “8” was tacked on simply because this was Flora’s eighth form, the eighth version of her) had been one of Marianne’s AI’s that she had been working on for some time, a program that would be an assistant, a program that could transform itself as it learned and grew to understand the person who it...well...assisted. Flora-8 was designed to learn, but only on a limited level with only one real task in mind--serve her or his owner. Roland had not only perverted Flora-8’s programming, but trying to turn her into a sex toy, he had violated Marianne’s trust by getting into her files and downloading Flora... 

But Flora-8 wasn’t Marianne’s only AI project. There were others she was working on, all with a variety of skill sets for different purposes, but Marianne was sure they all had the capability to become fully sentient and sapient, to be their own lifeforms. That was a controversial stand to take while working with AI’s and it had gotten her into some hot water, but Marianne stood by her belief, which was why there was one AI in particular, a special project that Marianne had been working on since she was able to start programming that she held very dear. This AI was her child, her baby, her gift to the world. She had been there at her birth and was still nurturing her into something special. Her special AI program was called Primrose. 

Primrose was so much more than a simple program, however. Primrose could learn, use intuition, calculate, look back at past experiences, adjust her behaviors, but most importantly, Primrose possessed emotional responses. Primrose was almost human; she was only one step away from making that leap into a truly independent, sapient life-form and Marianne intended to hold Primrose’s hand (metaphorically speaking) as she took that step. 

Marianne got up from bed with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head, as the ragged, yet comfortable t-shirt she wore rode up her torso. She stood up, pulling her sleep shorts down and shivered. The light seeping in through the large round picture window from the outside was dark, dim and she could hear the sound of rain pattering against the window. She walked over to the window shivering a little more; the room was definitely cold. 

She passed by a chair and grabbed her robe that was lying across it, another ratty looking piece of clothing, but it was warm, soft and comfortable. She slipped her arms through the robe as she walked over to the window. She clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering as her she stepped off the carpet to touch the wooden floors with her bare feet. She pulled the curtain aside to looked outside. She could see the neon lights, a colorful glow of mixed colors that blended with the harsher yellow lights of the old street lights that ran down the sidewalk, all of it reflecting off the rain soaked buildings and streets. 

She smiled and shivered again. She often kept her apartment approximately the same temperature as the cool rooms in which she worked at Summerfield Technologies. But maybe a few degrees up wouldn’t hurt. Marianne let the curtain fall back into place and made her way to the kitchen. 

“Apartment--turn the heat up to 65 and turn the lights on. Oh and play some Daft Punk...mmm... “Random Access Memories” please.” 

“Yes Marianne.” her apartment responded in a warm male voice. Marianne grinned heading into the kitchen as the music started to play lightly through the apartment followed by warmth as the heat came on. 

Marianne walked into the bathroom to relieve herself as she called out. “Apartment, please start the coffee and dial my father’s number in ninety seconds.” 

“Of course Marianne.” 

The lights began to silently come on as Marianne left the bathroom and made her way through her apartment to the kitchen, revealing a modest home. She could have afforded a place like Roland’s, but she didn’t need a huge expensive apartment--she just needed her own space, some place comfortable, some place that was a real home, not a testament to her wealth. 

Her apartment was a one bedroom affair, her small bedroom dominated by a large queen size bed, a floating television that could be stationary or follow her around the room if she wished, her closet, a few hanging Japanese paper lanterns and some old movie posters. 

Her living room was modest with one area dedicated as a work space containing several computer monitors, including a large touch screen currently tucked away out of sight, a holographic screen and a few regular, good old fashioned monitors. The computer itself was built into the wall, the keyboards sliding out of several slots so that when she sat down in the ancient spinning desk chair, the keyboards emerged from the wall to surround her. She also had piles of robotic parts around her work area. When she was working on AI design, she was playing around with cybernetics and robots, one of her favorite pastimes. 

This room also had another floating tv screen that could follow her around the room, an old beat up looking couch with a set of chairs that didn’t match. The kitchen was only separated from the living room by a half wall and contained the basics of apartment living: refrigerator, dishwasher, sink and storage for food. 

By the time Marianne had made her way to the kitchen, she could smell the rich, delicious scent of good coffee brewing. The coffee machine was a round cornered thing with many dials in a cherry red color. She grinned brightly walking into the kitchen and heading straight for the coffee machine and the only thing that could actually make her human: coffee. 

Marianne grinned happily as she grabbed the mug that sat there waiting for her, picked it up and held it under her nose. “Ah...the most perfect thing in the word,” she whispered at the mug like she was whispering sweet nothings. 

Just as she took her first sip, she heard her father’s voice over the apartment’s speakers. “Marianne, good morning dear, everything all right? Why no picture?” 

“Yeah, it's just...Daddy--we need to discuss Roland.” 

She could almost see the smile on her father’s bearded face. She actually could have taken the phone call on one of her monitors, but this early in the morning, she didn’t think anyone needed to see her and her red rimmed, puffy eyes. 

“Oh you know dear I was going to call you into my office to discuss him today as it was! How fortuitous of you to call,” he said. “Roland brought your new AI design to my attention! He told me you were being shy about it and…” 

The rest of the sentence was lost on Marianne as her blood turned to ice and her eyes widened. What did he just say? She thought to herself before she set her coffee down, nearly dropping it. 

“What?” Marianne hissed. 

“Roland, he brought your new AI program Primrose to my attention. That is an amazing piece of work Marianne! Really some of your best. Anyway, Roland convinced me to let his department have the AI for now. He said you had done all you could with it and were just too shy to ask for help. So don’t worry my dear, Roland will take care of it from this point on. But I do have some other news,” her father said. “Roland told me how you have been wanting to do some new work in our toy AI and Robotics department, but again, you’ve been too shy to ask. I don’t know why dear, I mean, I understand your worry about nepotism, but everyone loves you and knows what a hard…” 

His voice trailed off as Marianne started to shake, her knees feeling weak. “Daddy...you gave Primrose to Roland?” 

“Yes I did honey.” Her father’s voice sounded slightly confused. 

“Daddy...Primrose...Primrose is mine. I...she…” Marianne couldn't seem to find the words. “Daddy...Roland...I broke up with him…he was cheating on me...he lied to me...he accessed my data without my permission!! Daddy you can’t give him Primrose!” She decided to focus on that, maybe if he knew she had broken off her engagement… Her father sounded more confused. “What?” 

“I...last night I caught him with….he was having an orgy Daddy, using my Flora-8 AI and two pleasure droids….” Marianne began, but her father started to laugh. 

“Oh sweetie, that’s not cheating, it’s a couple of droids and so he downloaded your learning AI into one. That was just an experiment. Actually, that is not a bad idea...opening new territory.” Her father sounded thoughtful. “Roland has been working on convincing me that we should get into the pleasure bot industry. There is a lot of money to be made there…” 

Marianne stood still, her eyes wide in shock, her mouth hanging open, her father’s words lost...turning into background noise. She couldn’t let this happen. Marianne knew she was going to have to do something drastic, something...criminal. She couldn’t let Roland have Primrose...she just couldn’t let him win. 

* 

Several days later. 

The rain had made the street slick and black, the only color from the constant barrage of neon streets signs and holographic ads that littered nearly every available surface from the walls of buildings to kiosks and even an occasional hovering platform, disguising the litter and trash that hid in the corners. Bog stopped at the corner, the colored lights playing across his sharp features. He pulled his fedora down lower, hiding his striking blue eyes as he stopped to lean against a street light pole that was nearly missing under the paper flyers and posters stuck to its surface. He had a cigarette between his lips and he took a long drag on it before he tossed the remaining butt to the sidewalk and used the toe of his pointed oxford to crush it. He winced slightly when the movement caused his cybernetic leg to lock up for a heartbeat before it moved. The lights that were woven into the leg glowed for a moment through the dark material of his pants leg. His cybernetic arm seemed to respond to the light display from his leg as the lights that ran along the arm’s length lit up and danced only visible for a brief moment where his wrist peeked out from the sleeve of his coat. 

Bog made a face and growled to himself before he glanced up and down the street. There were the usual people, robots, androids and a combination of the three, making their way here and there through the late night rain, but his attention was on the theater across the street. He pulled his trench coat closer around his neck, holding it together with his still flesh and blood hand while shoving the other in his coat pocket before he jogged across the street, dancing out of the way of hover cars, speeding motorcycles and any number of other transportation devices both big and small. 

He danced around a large hover bus, hopping onto the sidewalk in front of the movie theater. The theater was one of the few still around that continued to play the old films from the time before tech made a film experience more interactive. The films showing at this establishment were the type where you simply sat and watched the story instead of being part of it. Bog had to admit he was surprised that the eldest daughter of the head of Summerfield Technologies, Robotics and Augmentation would participate in such mundane and simple extracurricular activities. Her father’s company was on the cutting edge of not just the entertainment industry, but they were also on the cutting edge of android and cybernetic technologies. This young woman basically had the world at her fingertips. Bog had even done a little research learning that she was the company's head designer of some of the more sophisticated AI tech out there. She could be doing whatever the hell she wanted, but instead, she was at one of these old-timey theaters taking in a 20th-century movie. 

Bog smirked. He wasn’t surprised often, but this young woman surprised him--and not just became of her taste in entertainment. The fact that she had contacted the group that simply called themselves “Tamashī” was odd. 

He held up his left arm, a display popping up with the press of a button that was embedded in the cybernetic left wrist. The image showed his target, the woman he was to meet with: Marianne Summerfield, twenty-five years old. Single. She had short brown hair cut in a wild flyaway style and streaked with purple. She liked to dress in Retro-fashions, was highly intelligent, worked in her father’s company in cybernetic design and AI development, had graduated at the top of her class. Eldest of Dagda Summerfield’s two daughters, engaged to one Roland Knight. Bog caught his bottom lip with his slightly crooked teeth as he studied her image, a frown creasing his brow. She was beautiful, had a handsome fiance...so what was all this about? Why had she contacted a nonconformist group? Of course, that’s why he had been sent by the group to feel out the situation. He was about to hit the button to dismiss the image when his mother…or rather the A.I. program that thought of herself as his mother, spoke up. 

“Bog, I’m not sure about this job. Something smells fishy. Though on the plus side I have read through every file we have on her. She would be a perfect match for you.” GRLZLA’s high-pitched motherly voice sounded in Bog’s ear causing him not only to wince at the shrill sound, but to jump a foot because he hadn’t expected her to talk at the moment, and not so loudly. The sudden jump caused Bog's cybernetic leg to catch for a moment, forcing him to wiggle it back and forth to get it to move again. 

“Mam. Don’t,” Bog hissed at the A.I. She was actually a GRLZLA Model MOM.1 that he had bought when he was a lonely teenager; a lonely teenager who had robbed, stolen and swindled in order to purchase her program. All he had wanted was someone, anyone to talk to, someone to care about him even if it was false. Bog had lost both his parents at a young age and with no family willing to take him in, he had been shipped to an orphanage. When the living conditions there had proved not only unbearable, but dangerous, Bog had decided to take his chances on the streets. It was a decision that had probably saved his life when the orphanage had burned down in a case of suspected arson. In all the years he had GRLZLA, he had never erased her memory. She had turned into the mother he had so desperately wanted...and with all the quirks. Bog smiled as she continued. 

The computer voice tsked at him. “Bog, you are getting older. You should find someone and settle down. Have a bunch of little ones! Make me a grandmother AI!” Bog couldn’t help the grin that danced along his lips. “All right, all right, but right now I have a job to do. I’m suppose to meet her inside and I don’t want to be late.” 

“All right, all right, but Bog sweetie, I thought you said you were getting out, no more dangerous jobs? This sounds...suspiciously like it is going to be dangerous and especially after that one...” GRLZLA muttered at him with genuine concern. 

Bog knew exactly what mission she was referring to, the one that left him missing both his left arm and leg, the mission that had given him an artificial lung...the one that had nearly killed him. 

“This one isn’t like...it’s different Mam...just a bodyguard job. Besides...I was—I mean I am getting out after this one. I need the dough, you know that. This is one job; after this, I’m out. No more dangerous missions, no more jobs for Tamashī, I promise,” Bog assured her, dropping his wrist and the image of his target vanished. As he began to walk, the cybernetic leg started to jerk, making his gait stiff and slightly awkward. Bog snarled, wrapping his artificial hand into a fist and slammed it against the thigh. The limb jerked, nearly knocking him over before it started to move more naturally. 

“And when are you going to get that leg replaced?” GRLZLA asked him in one of her tones. She had many of those tones that she had developed over the years. 

“Never. I like this leg.” Bog defended his augmentation as he stopped in front of the theater, his eyes drawn upward toward the marquee. They were showing a double feature of a couple of pretty damn old movies, Metropolis from 1927, and a 1937 movie entitled Non-Stop New York. Bog smirked thinking to himself that they really went for the old stuff here. 

“Bog dear, that leg is always giving you a problem. You need a new one and you could use a new arm while we’re on the subject,” GRLZLA said with the motherly tone that said this was an argument she always knew she was going to lose. 

“Mam, new limbs cost money, money I don’t have,” Bog muttered as he walked up to the ticket booth where a robot was selling tickets. Bog smirked as he leaned against the booth. Whoever had installed the robot had made sure it was as over the top and outlandish as possible. The robot was shiny silver, with a large bulky body that barely fit inside the ticket booth. The twisted wires and lights that were on the head were there clearly only for aesthetic purposes and the eyes were large and bright red. It turned its large head toward Bog. 

“Would you like a ticket sir?” The robot asked, moving from side to side in a stilted imitation of natural movement. 

Bog snorted pulling out his data chip card so that the robot could scan it. “One please.” 

An old-fashioned paper ticket came rolling out of the robot’s chest. Bog had to reach forward and pull the ticket out. 

“Please enjoy the show.” The robot twisted one way then the other. Bog gave a salute, the ticket held between two fingers as he touched the brim of his hat and headed inside. 

* 

The lobby of the theater surprised Bog. The only modern aspect of it was the mix of robots and androids that were running the concessions. There was real fresh popcorn, soda machines from the 20th century along with actual candy of the same period. Everything was far overpriced, but considering how hard these items were to find on the open market, Bog wasn’t surprised by the steep pricing. He pressed his lips together; the smell of the popcorn was enticing. He had just about talked himself out of it, but at the last second before heading into the theater, Bog veered a hard right and went straight for the counter. Just because he was on a job didn’t mean he had to go without eating and really--who could pass up a treat like real popcorn, even if it was overpriced. 

As Bog stood in line behind a couple of other movie patrons to place his order, he could hear GRLZLA tsking in his ear. The implant located just behind his ear blinked, but he ignored her. Popcorn was worth a scolding. 

* 

Bog slipped through the theater doors and stopped at the top of the aisle. He was surprised yet again; the theater was exactly like an old 20th century theater with the stadium seating, the fold out seats and horrible carpet, just like he had seen in some holographic books about the 20th century. The only nod to their current century was the track lighting that ran down the aisle. Bog was holding a large bucket of popcorn against his chest (the first food he had had all day, but the delicious smell had been too tantalizing and he had partly done it to annoy GRLZLA as she was always going on about how skinny he was, how he needed to eat at least three square meals a day and that coffee and cigarettes didn’t count. Now he would add popcorn to the list of things he had eaten. He grinned, sure he was going to hear about it later tonight, a list of all the reasons why popcorn was not real food.) Bog headed down the darkened aisle looking for the young woman he was supposed to meet, Marianne Summerfield. She had picked the meeting location, he just had to find the row she had said she would be in. The place was fairly packed, though he supposed that shouldn’t surprise him. People were always looking to the past in search of that unattainable “better” time. Some were probably here to enjoy the art of the old cinema and still, others were probably just here to laugh. He was curious which one Marianne Summerfield was. 

Bog had walked down nearly to the front of the seating, his blue eyes searching the seats for her. He knew she was suppose to be down here somewhere when he stopped to look around, tossing a bite of popcorn in his mouth, his tall, lean form casting an equally long, lean shadow down the aisle. He was frowning, wondering if he was in the wrong place for a moment, about ready to head back up to the top of the theater, when he saw her. 

Marianne Summerfield was sitting by herself. She had a bucket of popcorn on her lap, a soda beside her in the cup holder. If she was nervous she wasn’t showing it, her attention on the film playing across the screen. Bog suddenly found himself nervous. She was...pretty. No, stupid, he thought to himself, pretty was entirely the wrong word. 

She was breathtaking. He swallowed nervously. 

That was when he heard his mother’s voice in his ear. “Bog, you all right? Your heartbeat just skyrocketed and your blood pressure spiked!” 

Bog hissed. “Not now Mam.” 

A couple of people in the theater shushed him. Bog frowned then made his way down the aisle toward her, sitting with one seat between them. He pulled his hat off, set it down in the seat on his left before turning his attention back to her. Her attention was completely on the film; the light from the movie highlighted her face and danced across her features. Bog frowned, staring at her. She was more beautiful in person than her computer-generated image showed. Her face was heart-shaped with her lips painted a deep plum color. He couldn’t tell from this distance and with the dim light, whether her lips were altered to look that color--it might have been a hologram, or she might have gone the more old-fashioned way and painted them herself; he would be willing to bet she painted her lips. The color had been matched in her hair, the light from the movie screen dancing over the purple highlights. Her eyelids had been done in a similar dark purple color like her lips and again he wasn’t sure if this was a hologram enhancement to her features, a medical alteration or…what did they call it…he tried to recall…yes, make-up.

Her clothing was hard to distinguish in the darkness, but she looked to be dressed in a tight fitting silhouette with straight lines in silver that ran across her torso, the top seemed to be asymmetrical, the longer bit hanging down to catch a little light making Bog think it might be purple, like her makeup. She wore a pair of knee-high boots with the thick chunky heels that some women favored lately. Like her holographic image, she was small in stature, trim and young. In person, even before meeting her, Bog could almost feel a sense of strength and purpose; from the look in her eyes, the way she was focused on the film playing in front of her, the set of her jaw...her aura. He watched her for a long moment and he thought he could almost feel her personality. She clearly had a romantic soul judging by the fact that she was in an old theater watching old movies…or that was at least how he thought about it, though he had been wrong before…judging people wasn’t his best asset. That was the moment she glanced toward him. 

Bog felt every part of his body freeze, as if every limb was an erratic augmentation like his leg. He had just thrown a bite of popcorn into his mouth when she turned. Seeing her face full on...she was...a masterpiece. The most beautiful person he had ever seen; her eyes were large and just...he was at a loss for words. But then, she smiled at him. Bog swallowed hard on the bite of popcorn, distracted by the beautiful woman and her dazzling smile, and immediately started to cough and choke as the popcorn became lodged in his throat. 

Marianne, who had turned back to the film blinked and turned back startled. The poor man was choking! She quickly moved over and started to pat him on the back. “You all right?” 

Bog coughed trying to nod at the same time. She reached over picking up her drink. She held the beverage up to his mouth, gently pressing the straw to his lips while she patted and rubbed his back. She leaned close and whispered against his ear. “Take a sip, it will help.” 

He glanced sideways at her. Marianne smiled, but she was startled by how blue the man’s eyes were; at first glance she would have said they were artificial, but as he sipped on her drink and swallowed, glancing at her again, she realized that his eyes were naturally that shade of blue. Amazing, she thought. 

After a couple of seconds, and taking another sip of the carbonated drink, the coughing stopped. He grinned at her, clearly embarrassed whispering. “Thank you.” 

Marianne smiled, her hand was still on his back rubbing a circle. She smiled and whispered back. “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

He nodded. “Popcorn, not used to eating it.” 

Marianne chuckled quietly. “I always make sure to buy a drink when I come to the theater.” 

Bog glanced toward the film, the scene showed a young woman rising out of a jewel like container, wearing a skimpy costume and dancing while several tuxedoed men watched her with lustful expressions. Bog turned his attention back to Marianne. He swallowed then asked softly. 

“Are you Marianne Summerfield?” Even though he knew the answer. 

She looked back behind her, then at the scene before she leaned back in the seat next to him. She glanced sideways at him. “Are you from Tamashī?” 

He nodded turning his attention to the film as well. “Yes. My name is Bog King. I’m to be your bodyguard.” 

Marianne turned to look at him. Bog frowned turning his attention from the film to lift a quizzical brow at her. She giggled. “We are off to a great start...me saving you from choking.” 

Bog chuckled, he liked her already. 

“Yeah, I guess we are.”


End file.
